The Twelve Kingdoms (6 page)

“Your Highness.” The Dasnarian touched my sleeve as I passed him, his gaze serious. “Good luck.”

He said it as one warrior might to another, as she headed into battle, taking me aback. With a solemn nod, he lifted one hand, tipping two fingers back against his forehead, much as he'd done with the flat of the blade that afternoon.

“Good night,” I told him. And I strode away as quickly as I could, to face my father.

He went for his private rooms, naturally, sending his attendants scattering so we would be alone. To my knowledge, neither Andi nor Amelia had been inside them. I had gone to lengths to prevent that. Normally he conducted family conversations in his private study.

With me, however, it had always been his bedchamber. An intimacy he shared with very few.

Unlike mine, Uorsin's private chambers were not divided into smaller spaces. Located in the dead center of the castle, the room had no windows and was sealed with three sets of doors. The stone walls, an arm's length thick, allowed no sound through. Once closed, the room became as impregnable as any prison.

The King's final fortress.

“So.” He poured wine for us both. A picture of careless indolence. He handed me a goblet, face weary as he studied mine. “Speak to me truly, Daughter. Do you challenge me for the throne? Wearing the Heir's Circlet? Flaunting the queen's jewels in my face? Must I look for betrayal from even you?”

The dredging sorrow in his voice made my heart ache. Few people knew him as I did, understood how lonely holding the High Throne could be. He might be difficult to deal with at times, but he carried a heavy burden. He was everything I aspired to be, my King, my father, my hero. I loved him despite everything.

“No, my King,” I answered, wanting to say more, knowing too many of the wrong words would only push him back into rage.

“No? No, you did not wear the circlet or your mother's witch jewels?”

“I did not wear them as a challenge or to flaunt them.”

He waited to see if I would say more. Another technique. When I was younger, the expectation, the stinging silence, would get to me and I would inevitably blurt out something more. More for him to chew on. Eventually I learned to hold my tongue and I held it with all my might.

“I know why you wore them.” He clasped my shoulder, eyes sympathetic. “You fear for your position as heir. Your ambition is understandable. I've groomed you for this all your life. It bothers you that I intend to give it to my grandson instead.”

“My King—the throne is yours to decide. I wish only to honor it and you.”

“Yes.” He sat, heaving a sigh, and pulled off the crown, tossed it on the table, where it clattered against the wood. “It's a heavy burden, that crown. Have you ever wondered why I never let them soften the sharp edges, make it more comfortable?”

“You told me before it was so that you wouldn't forget what you suffered to bring peace and so that the weight of rule would never become too comfortable.”

Uorsin eyed me. “Did I say as much?” He huffed, sounding like the bear he was named for. “Then you understand why I must make this choice. I cannot have someone unworthy as my heir. Someone who is not strong and clearheaded enough to remain loyal.”

“I am loyal.”

“A pretty lie, I'm afraid. You've been conspiring. I see it all clearly. You plot with your sister and those demons she consorts with to overthrow me. That's why you let her go, why you did not bring her back. Did you murder your nephew, too? Perhaps my beloved Amelia, as well? Do they even now lie moldering in the ground, in some pauper's grave, victims of your overweening ambition?”

Each accusation hit me in the gut, blows as painful as if they had been physical punches, all the worse that he spoke in such a coaxing, reasonable tone, the sorrow of betrayal in his visage. Each stole more of my breath, forcing my heart to labor.

How had it come to this—and why hadn't I seen it? It made a horrible sense, the way he put it together. The same way he'd struck at my sisters. An invidious logic I could not argue against. I had no proof otherwise. Other than that I would never be disloyal at all, let alone in such heinous ways.

Purchased loyalty is the only kind you can depend on.
Uorsin must believe that. That was why he'd sent me to Branli, on what I now clearly saw as a fool's errand. There were no other routes into Annfwn not blockaded by Andi's wall. But Uorsin thought I conspired with her, lied about the magical barrier. If I'd returned with a way in, or with my nephew, my loyalty would not be in doubt. I'd known I'd face this, but not to this extent. No wonder he'd contracted with the mercenaries.

“You do not deny it, Daughter?” The question came so softly I almost didn't catch it.

“None of that is true.” I kept my voice as clear and emotionless as I could. Disaster if I wept. So weak. So female.
Put the tears away.
“I cannot prove my innocence, except by bringing Amelia and Astar to you, safe and unharmed.”

“Something you could have done already, had you wished to.” He poured more wine, only for himself this time, and drank. “I thought I'd done my best by you, Ursula, my namesake. I taught you everything I knew. Perhaps I've been hard on you, but everything I've done, I did for the High Throne and the peace it stands for. I thought you understood that, believed in it, too. Now I have to wonder—do you want the throne so badly that you deprived me of another heir?”

My spine ached and my gut churned far too much to risk drinking the wine. I had to find a way to get through to him. “My King. There is something you need to know before you judge me. A secret I dared not reveal before the court without your permission. May I tell you?”

He sat silent as I fretted. Finally he groaned, as if in physical pain. “Tell me.”

“Father, Amelia bore twins—a girl and a boy. At first we thought the girl did not survive the night, so I kept her birth a secret. The boy child was healthy and strong and the Twelve did not need the additional grief when there was so much to celebrate. Amelia, once recovered from childbirth, however, discovered that we had been fooled by a . . . simulacrum and that the girl is still alive, but taken by Tala rebels.”

As I spoke the story, in the stale silence of Uorsin's bedchamber, pinned under his penetrating gaze, it sounded more and more absurd to my own ears. I would not have believed myself. I wrestled down the desire to say more, to fill that deadly quiet, to beg my father to believe me. My nails, even as short as they were, dug sharp into my palms.

“And
how
”—Uorsin's voice dripped contempt—“did pretty little Ami see through a trick that fooled you?”

I certainly could not say that it had been a magical vision from our mother. Or that Amelia's ex-convict, Tala half-breed lover had assisted. Danu taught that the greatest strength came from taking responsibility on yourself. “I made a mistake,” I replied.

He rose and came around the table. Not raging. Deadly quiet. “Look at me and say that again.”

I raised my chin and looked my King and father in the eye. “I made a mistake.”

His fist blasted my cheek with pain. A hard enough blow that my brain darkened a moment, swimming to stay alert. Fortunately it had been a fairly casual backhand. Far from the first he'd dealt me over the years. Not that it made them sting any less. Though no more than the sting of admitting my failure to him.

“You made a mistake.”

“Yes, my King.” I clenched my teeth against saying more, and in case he chose to strike me again. A censure I richly deserved.
I saw my dead niece, but it was magic. Ami was beside herself with grief and I couldn't say no to her. I stood by while she opened the tomb, saw for myself that the blanket held only twigs and leaves. I could not take her son from her, after all that, so I let her go into the Wild Lands with him.

Now a greater mistake stared me in the face. I should not have come back here, to face the King. This rage and betrayal went deeper than ever before. I cringed inside, where he couldn't see, and hoped to survive to prove myself to him. My eye socket throbbed, but I dared not put a hand up to touch it.

Uorsin stared at me, stark points of ice blue in bloodshot pools. “Where is Amelia now?”

“She chases the kidnappers to retrieve her daughter.”

“My pretty Amelia. You would have me believe that she's raced off into the Wild Lands, burdened with an infant, to fight rebels all by herself.”

I hardly would have believed it myself. But Ami had grown up in the last half a year. Hugh's death had, instead of crushing her, polished her to a high sheen. She had a certain indomitability about her these days. A surety of purpose she'd lacked before. One I envied at this moment, as I wondered where my own had gone. Uorsin glowered, expecting an answer this time.

“She took her personal guard with her, including an expert huntsman and tracker. I believe her to be well protected.”

“Yet, you ask permission to go after her.”

Would he let me go? “To ensure their safety, yes.”
To prove myself to you.

“A safety that did not concern you before this.”

“I knew you would be expecting word. That your army remained poised to intercept Erich. I knew you needed to know, from me, that Astar was not in jeopardy of being taken by Erich's forces.”

“I think you'd say anything to have the throne for yourself.”

Desperation gnawed at me. “Then disinherit me. Send me off in exile. Have me executed. The High Throne requires a worthy heir. If I don't meet your measure”—I sucked in my stomach muscles to steel my breath so it would not waver—“then I don't deserve to be your daughter.”

“Empty words.” Uorsin stood, walked away, and emptied the flagon of wine into his goblet. “Have you more to explain why you abandoned your mission in Branli and somehow ended up at Windroven?”

“I sent you a missive with my report.”

“Tell me again,” he said, tone deceptively soft as he paced around the room.

“We spent months following the rumors, looking for the other route into Annfwn.” It hadn't been an easy task, combing the pubs and chatting up shepherds, ferreting out anyone who'd heard the old stories of pathways over the mountains into paradise—without directly inquiring. “I kept a list of the roads and paths we followed, some no better than deer trails. None led us anywhere but deeper into the Wild Lands.”

“Did you reach the sea?”

“No.” I'd tried, hadn't I? I'd tried everything I could think of to bring him the answer he wanted, not letting myself contemplate the eventual impact on Andi, should I succeed.

“Then you did not go far enough.”

We had gone far enough, and found ourselves circling back on our own tails. More Tala magic. When we'd stood at Odfell's Pass and Andi gave her demonstration, though I had seen that the land beyond the barrier bloomed with summer, my Hawks later told me that they had seen only snow, that she and the Tala had disappeared from sight on the other side. Perhaps she hid the barrier from me also now, reflecting us away as if from a mirror. I'd tried to explain this to Uorsin once before, but he'd flown into such a rage that I knew better than to say it again. I'd hoped he'd calm over the ensuing months.

Instead he'd only gotten worse.
Danu give me strength to know what to do.

“We did not go far enough,” I agreed, aching with the failure of that, too.

“And then your sister sent for you and you threw all else aside to go to her.”

How to tread this path? “I knew you placed a high value on securing her child, should it be born a boy. I sought to serve you in that, Father.”

The sound of the flagon hitting the wall clanged like a broken bell against my nerves.

“But. You. Failed.” The King bit down on each word. Each as bad as the physical blow.

“Yes, my King.” I thought a tear escaped me, but it was blood, I realized, leaking from my forehead where the Heir's Circlet had cut in. I put up a hand to wipe it away.

“Give me that.”

Pulling off the circlet, with a sense of the inevitability, I placed the thin gold band in his palm and for a long and dreadful moment faced him, forcing myself to hold steady.

“Allow me to correct my error, my King. I'll go and find them, bring them here. Or die trying.”

“You shall not wiggle free so easily, escaping the consequences of thwarting me as your mother did. You need not retrieve my grandson, because Amelia will bring him here—if she truly lives and your tale is true. She, at least, dotes on her old father and will want to see me happy. You denied me one heir. I won't stand by and let you do it again.”